Poppy’s work soon began in good earnest. Her mother had to go out to work, and whilst she was away there was no one but Poppy to take care of the babies. She liked her work very much at first. Their eyes were as blue as those of the wax dolls in the shop window, and their hair was quite as pretty.

But, as the days went by, Poppy could not help wishing that her babies would sometimes be as quiet as the row of dolls in the shop under the Bar. Poppy’s babies were never quiet, except when they were asleep, and unfortunately it was very seldom that they were both asleep at the same time. Poor little Poppy! her small arms ached very often as she carried those restless babies, and sometimes she felt so tired she thought she must let them fall.

Oh, how they cried! Sometimes they went on hour after hour without stopping. And then at length, one baby would fall asleep quite tired out, but no sooner did its weary little cry cease than the other one would scream more loudly than before, and would wake it up again.

There was no end to Poppy’s work. She was warming milk and filling bottles, she was pacing up and down the room, she was singing all the hymns she had learned at school to soothe them to sleep, she was nursing and patting, and rocking her babies from morning till night.

Brave little Poppy! The tears would come in her eyes sometimes, when the babies were more cross than usual, and she would think how nice it would be to feel rested sometimes; she was always so tired now. But she never gave up her work; she would not have left her babies for the world; she loved them through it all.

Even when her mother came home in the evening Poppy’s work was not finished. Poor tired mother, she came slowly and wearily up the court, and then sank down upon a chair just inside the door, almost too exhausted to speak.

‘Give me the babies, Poppy darling,’ she would say.

But Poppy knew that her mother had been standing all the day at a washing-tub, and that she was almost too tired to speak, and so she would say, ‘Oh, I’ll keep them a bit, mother; get a cup of tea first.’

And so the evening wore away, and bedtime came; the time when most little girls of Poppy’s age get into soft, cosy beds, and sleep peacefully till the sunbeams wake them gently in the morning. But even at night Poppy’s work was not over. One or other of the babies was crying nearly all the night, and sometimes both were crying together. Poppy used to see her poor mother pacing up and down, backwards and forwards on the bedroom floor, trying to hush one of the fretful children to sleep. And then she would creep out of bed and say, ’Give it to me, mother, you are so tired and so cold.’

And then Poppy would take her turn in that constant tramp, tramp across the floor, and at last, when the happy moment came, if it ever did come, in which both babies were worn out with crying and were laid asleep beside her mother, Poppy would creep cold and shivering into bed, and the night would seem all too short for her.

Yet, in spite of all the work the babies gave her, Poppy was very proud of her presents. And when her mother got out two white frocks which Poppy had worn when she was a baby, and dressed the poor little twins in them one Sunday afternoon, Poppy danced for joy.

‘Don’t they look lovely, mother?’ she said.

‘You must pray for them, Poppy, when we get to church,’ said her mother. ‘We are going to give them to God.’

‘What will He do with them, mother?’ said Poppy. ’He won’t take them away, will He?’

‘No,’ said her mother, ’He won’t take them away just yet; but I want them to belong to Him as long as they live, and then He’ll take them home by-and-by.’

Poppy was very attentive at church that day. How pretty her babies looked as the clergyman took them in his arms! Her mother had been very anxious that they should have Bible names, and after much searching, and after many long talks with Poppy on the subject, she had fixed on Enoch and Elijah as the names for the little brothers.

Poppy was very happy that Sunday as she walked home with little Enoch in her arms. But when they got into the house, her mother sat down and burst into tears.

‘What is it, mother dear?’ said the child. ‘Are you tired?’

‘No, my dear, it isn’t that,’ she said. ’I’ll tell you some time when the babies are asleep.’

They were asleep much sooner than usual that night; the fresh air had made them sleepy, and Poppy and her mother had a quiet evening.

’Tell me why you were crying, mother dear, when we came home from church.’

‘Oh, Poppy!’ said her mother, ’I don’t know how to tell you, my poor little lassie.’

‘What is it, mother? Do tell me.’

’You know you said God had sent a present for you, Poppy, when the babies came?’

‘Yes for me and you, mother,’ said the child.

‘Poppy,’ said her mother, ’I think He’s going to give you the biggest share of it. I think I’m going to die, Poppy, and leave you all. Oh! Poppy, Poppy, Poppy!’ and she sobbed as if her heart would break.

Poppy felt as if she were dreaming, and could not understand what her mother was saying. Mrs. Byres, in the house opposite, had died a little time before, but then she had been ill in bed for many a month; and Mrs. Jack’s little boy and girl had died, but then they had had a fever. Her mother could walk about, and could go out to work, and could look after the babies. How could she be going to die?

‘I didn’t like to tell you, Poppy,’ her mother went on; ’but it is true, my darling, and it’s better you should know before it comes.’

‘But, mother, you are not ill, are you?’ said the child; and as she said this she looked at her mother. Yes, she certainly did look very thin, and pale, and tired, as she sat by the fire.

‘I’m failing fast, Poppy,’ said her mother; ’wasting away. I’ve felt it coming on me a long time, dear before your father went away. And last week I got a ticket for the dispensary, and the doctor said he couldn’t do nothing for me; it was too late, he said. If it wasn’t for you and the babies, Poppy, I would be glad to go, for I’m very, very tired.’

‘Mother,’ said Poppy, with a great sob, ’however will we get along without you?’

‘I don’t know,’ said the poor woman. ’I don’t know, Poppy; but the good Lord knows; and He is a good Lord, child. He’s never failed me yet, and I know He’ll help you I know He will. Come to me, my darling.’

And the mother took her little girl in her arms, and held her to her bosom, and they had a good cry together.

But before very long the twins awoke, and Poppy and her mother began their work again.